Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by Speaker for the Dead aka 17
Summary: A Voyager/Crusade crossover-- can the Excalibur and Voyager help each other complete their respective quests, and save the universe at the same time? It's a weird genre, but pleas r+r! :)
1. Lost Identity

****

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

A _Voyager_/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway. 

I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.

Author's foreword: Now that _Voyager_ has ended, I'm waiting for the _Enterprise_ tapes to arrive, and in the meantime I've found another series to shower my affections on. J Yep. 'Tis Crusade! I am **definitely** hooked- now I'm trying to get my hands on some B5 too (tho' I suppose this'll take a little more cake: five back seasons of _Voyager_ took me more than a year to get through!) Anyway this is dedicated to Jadzia-in-the-states, my sis, qwerty and Ezzy! (and my husband of course… long story … *smyle* ….)

****

Chapter One: Lost Identity 

[Do not trust]

[Do not trust]

__

Trust who?

The deep raspy voice resonated in his dreams; he was trapped in a formless, featureless world. His other dreams, which he remembered as crisp and clear with a devastating sharpness, were never like this. He was lost in a fog,; a fog intangible as he was.

__

Who am I? What am I? Where am I?

Why couldn't he remember any of his other dreams? Something so clear and sharp should have burnt its way into his memory, yet all he could dredge up were shadows of memories of what had transpired.

His lack of a reference point, lack of grounding, lack of _knowing why_ gnawed into him with frustrating intensity.

[Do not trust]

__

I don't understand. Who are you? What are_ you?_

Someone was tapping on his shoulder.

He struggled to wrench his eyes open. He was becoming aware of his own body now; he was lying on some sort of soft bed, uncovered, his feet were bare. He twitched a finger; it barely moved.

A voice cut into his thoughts: male, nasal. "Can you hear me?"

His mouth moved, but no words came out.

The male voice sounded insufferably pleased. "It appears that our patient is getting better."

A warm touch on his hand: the owner of the male voice? No, there was someone else speaking; a deep, husky female voice. A woman. "How are you feeling?"

He finally managed to get his eyes open, and immediately squinted at the bright light that flooded them. "Ah."

"It's alright- take it easy." The touch on his hand was warm, reassuring. "You've had a rough time."

Bit by bit he opened his eyes and looked around him. The world slowly swam into focus into him. He was lying on a diagnostic bed in a circular room brightly lit by yellow glowpanels all along the circumference of the wall to his left. The room was done in shades in darkling silver and chrome, with various black consoles ringing the bed beside him. The half of the room to his left opened into an even larger room, with more beds, some occupied, some not. A silver bank of consoles stood between the room he was in and the open space of the other room; in the next room were more consoles, the same sleek style of décor; a small circular anteroom to the side. A door at the far end. He surmised that he was probably in some kind of sickbay, if the faint medicinal smell lingering in the air was any indication.

There were two people in the room hovering over him, one a tall, thin balding man with a thin, wide smile that stretched, it seemed, from one ear to another, obsidian eyes twinkling with a hint of self-congratulation. Beside him was a petite woman with a mane of reddish hair, wide cheekbones and oddly delicate features. She carried herself with an air of confidence that reminded him of something that he could not quite put his finger on. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship _Voyager_. We came across your ship in this nebula by accident. There was no distress signal, but we detected your life-sign and beamed you onboard. But your ship…" She paused. "It was heavily damaged, and we couldn't salvage it before the engines blew." Her fine brow puckered slightly. "I'm sorry."

He blinked. "What… happened?" was all he managed to say.

"I was hoping you'd be able to tell us," said Janeway with a slight gesture of her hand. "Was your ship attacked?"

He tried to think, but he couldn't remember anything about a ship. He couldn't even remember leaving Earth in the first place. The more he tried to connect what he could remember to his current predicament, the more he seemed to lose his ground. It was like trying to look at a dim star at night: when you didn't look directly at it, it shone bright in your peripheral vision, but when you turned your head to look at the distraction, it disappeared. "I can't remember," he confessed.

Janeway nodded. "What were you doing out here?" she asked. "Were you looking for something, or someone-?"

He blinked. Didn't she understand? "I don't remember anything."

Janeway's eyebrow raised slightly, briefly. "What's your name, stranger?"

He struggled to sit up, and pain spasmed briefly up his lower back. The balding man (presumably the doctor) tried to restrain him, but he waved away his assistance. "I don't know. That's not my name."

"What's not your name?" asked Janeway, the slight puckering of her eyebrow becoming permanent.

"Stranger." It was taking a lot of effort to remain sitting upright.

Janeway gave him a genuinely concerned look. "You don't remember your name?"

"No." He tried to look genuinely apologetic, but deep inside he was beginning to get worried. How bad was it, he wondered, when you didn't even know who you were?

Janeway turned to the doctor. "You said he would experience temporary amnesia. But you didn't mention anything of this scale."

The doctor frowned, creasing the space between his brows with deep furrows. "There _was_ a substantial amount of brain damage, but my first impression was that it was not something I couldn't handle." He rubbed his chin with one hand and supported the elbow with the other fist as he contemplated a nearby console. "Obviously I was wrong in making that judgement."

__

Brain damage? He didn't like the sound of that. "Is there something that I should know about?" 

The doctor turned back to him with a troubled sigh. "You suffered extensive injuries when your ship was damaged," he said. "Multiple fractured ribs, two crushed vertebrae, no lack of internal bleeding, third degree burns covering thirty percent of your body, as well as severe concussion." He gesticulated in the air with one hand as he said this, his elbow never leaving the arm across his waist. He gave his patient a direct stare, his hand frozen in place. "Your brain, I'm afraid, suffered some oxygen deprivation, as well as internal hemorrhaging. The amnesia you are currently experiencing may last several days, or it may be permanent. There is no telling with such injuries; the human brain is highly resilient, so I wouldn't sign a death warrant just yet." Another gesture of the hand.

He must have paled, because Janeway placed a restraining hand on her doctor's shoulder. "Don't upset him too much. He's been through a lot; he should be resting now."

The doctor's hand dropped slightly as he shot a disgusted glare at his captain. "The truth has never hurt _my_ patients," he said somewhat tersely. Then his features relaxed into a more congenial expression. "But I believe you may be right." The doctor pushed him back down onto the bed; he was too tired to resist. "You must recover from your injuries. Perhaps you will remember more when you awaken."

Janeway patted him on the shoulder. "We'll speak later. Have a good rest." Then she moved out of his field of vision. The soft sound of a hydraulic door hissing open and close followed shortly after.

He closed his eyes, wanting no more than to lose himself from the growing nightmare. As he drifted off to sleep, the same smoky voice came back to haunt him. Trapped in that window between sleep and consciousness, he thought that it spoke quite true. How could he trust anyone else when he didn't even know who he really was?


	2. Becoming Stranger

****

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

A _Voyager_/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway. 

I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.

****

Chapter Two: Becoming Stranger

"I don't think I've seen anything like it before," Janeway told Chakotay frankly as they headed for the turbolifts. "He has absolutely no memory of who he was before the accident. The only clue he has to his identity is the band he wears around his wrist- and he doesn't know what it's for either. Two days, and we've gone nowhere." She sighed as they entered the turbolift, and paused to rub her temple absently. "We should have kept the clothes he was originally wearing. The doctor thinks they were some kind of uniform- at least they might have given us some clue as to who he was serving with."

"Have you hazarded any guesses, though?" asked Chakotay.

Janeway put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows briefly. "That's the most frustrating part. DNA scans have shown him to be a hundred percent human." She gestured with one hand. "So, if he's human, and not from Starfleet, who could he be? And what the hell is he doing in the Delta Quadrant?"

"He's from Earth?"

Janeway raised her both her hands to express her complete cluelessness. "He's mentioned Earth one or two times, but he was very vague about it. When we when pressed for details, he simply couldn't remember anything more about Earth than the rest of his history."

The turbolift deposited them on the bridge. "Captain," reported Kim crisply, "We are ready to go to warp at any moment."

Janeway nodded. "Do it."

"A human, stranded in the Delta Quadrant, with no memory of who or what he is?" mused Chakotay quietly, as they headed to the center seat. "It's a little suspicious, don't you think?"

Janeway cast him an iron glance. "What do you mean, Commander?"

"I'm just saying that it's implausible that-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "If you have a possible theory I want to hear it," she told him.

"If you're looking for conspiracy theories, I have none; all I'm saying is that he might not be who he seems to be." Chakotay sat down in his chair.

Janeway ruminated on his words for a moment, then drummed her fingers slightly on her chair. "This is the last thing I need on my hands right now," she said. "Harry, what's our status on the Cepylaspoa?"

"We have not detected any signs of their ships since the attack," reported Kim crisply from the conn.

She frowned.

"Something's bothering you," noted Chakotay. 

Janeway shook her head head slightly. "They just attack us, then leave abruptly when on the brink of victory, and never reappear? It doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," said Chakotay softly. "Unless…" his words trailed off as he paused, considering.

"Unless?" prompted Janeway, wondering what he was thinking of.

"Unless they were looking for something, and didn't find it," he said.

Janeway cast a piercing glance at Chakotay. "You think it's our guest."

"He turned up only shortly after they left. There could be a connection," Chakotay said.

Janeway nodded slowly. "If he comes from around the same sector of space as they do, it might help him remember something." She placed on hand on his on the armrest. "I'll talk to him later."

There was a mirror in the quarters they had provided for him.

The room wasn't large by most standards; a double bed against the right wall from the door, a small kitchenette area tucked into the corner directly beside the door, the washroom in between the two. A workstation to the left, wardrobe and cabinets against the leftmost wall, with glowstrips alongside; the wall directly opposite the entrance had its top half replaced by a curving view panel showing the stars passing. A green leather couch spanned the space below the window. 

And there was a mirror set into the space beside the wardrobe.

It was the first thing he'd noticed when Lt. Torres had escorted him to his room; it was the last thing he had dared to look at. He'd approached the mirror cautiously, not sure of what to expect.

He'd found himself staring at the image of a stranger.

A man in his mid-thirties, tall and lean, with a narrow, sharp-jawed face. Prominent cheekbones, deep, close-set, hooded eyes; slightly wavy brown hair, swept back; thin lips which puckered slightly as he studied his expression.

__

I don't know who I am.

"Who are you?" he asked his reflection softly. There was, of course, no reply; his reflection merely repeated the question maddeningly to him.

The door chimed softly. "Come," he said, one phrase he'd learnt from the crew so far. 

It was Janeway, carrying a middle-sized black parcel. She surveyed his room briefly. "Am I interrupting something?" She asked, gesturing with a hand.

"No." He shook his head, turning away from the mirror.

She came in and stood in the middle of the room, giving him a somewhat bemused glance. "You are settling down well in your quarters, I assume?"

He nodded. "Yes." He gave the door a quick glance, and added, "You didn't really need to come just to ask me about-"

"No, no that's not the only reason." She quickly crossed the space of the room and settled down on the bed, then looked back up at him. "Have you remembered anything else?" 

He glanced back at the mirror, wondering at the man whose face he had seen in it. "No."

Her eyebrows did a quick lift and she nodded, as she acknowledged his inability to remember. "Do the Cepylaspoa mean anything to you?"

"The… Cepylaspoa? No." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sat beside her on the bed. "Who are they?"

Janeway sighed. "Unfortunately, we have no answer to that either. We came across a fleet of their ships in the sector of space we just left, a few days before we found you." She placed on hand gently on the bed, her voice low. "They attacked us without provocation, and were on the brink of destroying us when they abruptly turned and left."

He studied her hand, fascinated, then gently placed his hand over hers. He was still wearing the sleek silver band around his wrist, and his hand looked so large around hers. "Why would they do that?"

She shrugged slightly. "I wish we knew." She extracted her hand from under his as she turned to take the parcel, which she had placed on the bed. She handed it to him.

He held the parcel- it was more of a box, actually- and hefted it. Despite its large size, it was fairly light. There was a small catch in the front of the box; he opened it. Inside were glass bottles filed with paint, brushes, sticks of charcoal, and paper. "It's a box of art supplies," she explained patiently, as if speaking to a small child.

"I know that," he told her. "What's it for?"

"It's for you." She clasped her hands on her crossed legs. "Using art to express what you think, what you feel- it might help you remember."

He scanned the contents of the box again, then looked up at Janeway, at a loss of words to say. He didn't quite know why these people were being so cordial to a complete stranger. "Thank you," he said.

She reached over and placed her hand on his arm. "You're welcome…" she paused.

"Stranger." He finished.

"Stranger?" She tilted her head slightly, frowning slightly. "Is that your name?"

"No, that's what you called me the first time in Sickbay," he reminded her.

A corner of her mouth quirked up. "It's a rather odd name."

"It's a rather odd situation," he countered.

Her smile grew. "That's true," she conceded. She stood up. "The senior officers are having dinner in the Mess Hall later at 17 00 hours. Would you like to come?"

He closed the box of art supplies and stood. "Yes, I would."

She patted him on the elbow. "I'll see you later, then… Stranger."

****

Interlude: The Hunt Continues

The Cepylaspoa fleet hovered in the dark void of space, seeking. Nine dark, sleek vessels, leviathan in design, with a smattering of shifting spots of light that made them appear to be just another tableaux in space, indistinguishable from the vacuum around them.

It was close. It was nearly here.

They continued searching.


	3. Taking on an Identity

****

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

A _Voyager_/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway. 

I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.

****

Chapter Three: Taking on an Identity

Janeway held the gray bundle of clothes tight as she stood in front of Stranger's room. "Come," he said, and the door slid open.

His tall frame was slightly hunched over the workstation as he sketched on paper with a charcoal stick. Janeway headed over and stood in front of the console he was working on. On it was a sketch of what looked like a pattern of curlicues. "What's this?" she asked, curious.

Stranger looked up and fixed her with his disconcertingly intent gaze. "It's something I saw in my dreams last night." He leaned back and looked down at his handiwork. "I don't know what it is, however."

Janeway leaned over the desk and studied the sketch. The pattern looked unfamiliar; she didn't know what it was either. "Keep drawing," she said encouragingly. "We may eventually get something."

He turned his attention to the bundle of clothes she was holding. "What's that?"

Janeway smiled. "It's your uniform… or at least, it's as close as what we the Doctor managed to produce from the remains of your uniform."

"My uniform." He gave her a strange look, then stood up, pushing his chair away from the desk. "I have a uniform?"

"It's very similar to the Starfleet uniform, actually," Janeway told him. "It's a three parter. Here." She handed him the bundle, and he removed the topmost garment and held it at arm's length. It was a gray jacket, long sleeved, with red shoulders and red cuffs. "Why don't you put it on?" offered Janeway. "It might bring back some memories."

He took the entire bundle and nodded. "I'll be right back," he said, and headed for the washroom.

Janeway focused her attentions back on Stranger's drawing. Right now, it was merely a collection of forms that curved and interlinked, with several strong slashes across. What could it be? Some form of bizarre amoeba mating? The more she stared at it, the more the pattern intrigued her. 

Stranger cleared his throat slightly as he exited from the washroom. He had put the uniform on, and was in the process of zipping up the jacket. Judging from the look on his face, he didn't like it. "Compared to civvies… these are helluva uncomfortable." He tugged at the collar, adjusting it.

A corner of Janeway's lips twitched upwards. She assessed his uniform quickly. Even without the epaulets and other ornaments, she could tell immediately that it was a military uniform: the heavy shoulders, stiff embroider on the cuff. 

Stranger stared at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting the tight-fitting uniform. He was silent for a moment, then one corner of his lips curled. "I look like a bellhop."

Janeway fought the impulse to laugh- he was right, he did resemble the service workers at some of the fancier resorts in the galaxy. "All you need is a matching cap," she remarked.

"No, wait." He gripped her hand, still staring intently at the mirror, a line of thought creasing his brow now. "I remembered something…." He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, concentrating. Janeway held her breath, not wanting to disrupt whatever tenuous thread linked Stranger with his past.

His eyes snapped opened. "That's what I said… the first time I wore this uniform."

"And?" prompted Janeway cautiously.

"And… my ship…I- " He put a hand to his temple. "I'm sorry. I had a vague memory something just now, but it's gone."

Janeway took his hand in hers and gripped it tightly. "It's alright, Stranger. At least we're making progress." She hesitated a moment, then continued. " A ship… There's something else I'd like to discuss with you."

"What?" he asked, chestnut-brown eyes curious. 

"We managed to do some preliminary scans of your ship before it was destroyed," she told him. "Seven has been studying the sensor logs for a few days now, and she's concluded that the vessel you were travelling in was only a short-range vessel, incapable of hyper-light speeds, and unable to travel alone for more than weeks at a time."

"And your point-?"

"Stranger, this means that your shuttle took off from somewhere near where we found you. It could be a colony, a world, a ship-" She gesticulated with a couple of fingers. "All this means that there's a larger organization-a world, a fleet, _something_- somewhere nearby that _you_ belong to."

"Excalibur," said Stranger abruptly.

"Excalibur?" asked Janeway, her attention snapping to a maximum. "Is that the name of your affiliation? Your homeworld? Your-"

"I don't know; it's just a name," Stranger interrupted her. "It just crossed my mind. I thought you should know. It might even be my name."

"It's a name from ancient Earth literature," Janeway mused thoughtfully. "So… if you are connected in any way to it… whatever it is… it could mean that you're potentially stranded from home. Like us." Her mind kicked into high gear. "And if we could elucidate the means by which you arrived in the Delta Quadrant, then… we might be able to find a way home." She walked around the room as she said this, growing more excited as she considered all the possibilities. 

She turned around. Stranger was just standing there, giving her a gaze of profound concern. "And if I can't remember anything?"

She let out a small sigh. "I'm sorry." She walked back towards him. "I guess I got a little carried away back there." She stopped in front of him and placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "What matters now is finding out who _you_ are, what you were doing and where you were going when you ended up in this predicament."

He glanced briefly down at her hand upon his shoulder, then back up at her. "It's been a week, and I still don't remember anything," he said. "Maybe I should consider thinking more about who I'm going to _be_, instead on dwelling on a past which doesn't exist anymore."

Her hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't say that. One week isn't too long for a recovery from amnesia. We'll keep trying, and see what turns up. Besides, you're beginning to remember things now, aren't you?"

Stranger considered her words. "You said you had scans of the ship I was in?"

"Would you like to see them?" Janeway asked.

Stranger nodded. "It might trigger more memories."

She took him by the arm. "Let's have a talk with Seven," she said.


	4. Drawing the Bait

****

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

A _Voyager_/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway. 

I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.

****

Interlude: Drawing The Bait

It was dark inside the Cepylaspoa ship; for ones that did not need eyes to see, light was unnecessary. It was not a design which would have made humanoid lifeforms comfortable, but the Cepylaspoa were not humanoid. Neither were they Vulcanoid, or any other kind of -oid that humans were accustomed to associating with.

They were different. 

Cepylaspoans were abstruse forms that were neither solid, liquid nor gaseous-- they structure was such that they straddled all three classifications. They merely took on the form of the substance they occupied for the moment. They were incorporeal forms, mathematical possibilities from higher planes of reality that existed by manipulating matter in the first three dimensions.

In fact, _ship_ was a misnomer for the nine vessels streaking through space; _colony _might have been a more appropriate term. Each ship actually consisted of thousands of individuals, each becoming a different part of the ship, each performing a different function. There was no conflict, no enmity. They Understood.

They Understood, and the Mortals did not.

Conflict was ever-present in the corporeal world. The Cepylaspoans had observed this ever since the first carbon-based lifeforms had crawled from their primeval roots and begun societies of their own. Even after millions of years, after so many of them had eventually transcended, things still remained the same.

The Cepylaspoans were old; they were older than the Preservers, older than the Founders, even older than the Q. They were the last of the Ancients, the races which had existed from the creation of the universe. They were ones who had come into being when the universe were born from the Void, and they had endured the years in between, observing, watching, and not liking what they saw very much.

One of the greatest mysteries of the Universe, the Cepylaspoans felt, was how well the younger evolved races accepted these foolish mortals. In the beginning, when there had been only a few of these mortals, the situation had been bearable. But now, their kind had infested the universe, spewing destruction and discord everywhere.

It was only in deference for the sensibilities of the other evolved races that the Cepylaspoa left the lesser races alone. But the recent events in several galaxies- the devastating Zygma war in one that had wiped out nearly half of the galaxy's population, the deadly confrontation between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance in another, countless minor conflicts in others- had led them to the decision that they would tolerate no more such behavior. They would find a way to eradicate these lifeforms while keeping the rest of the universe intact.

The leader of the ninth ship had no name; Cepylaspoans had no need for names. He was referred to as "Ninth Leader"; should his position be changed, his form of address would change accordingly. It should be here by now. 

It will arrive soon. The bait has been drawn. replied Fifth Leader. The Ninth will not betray us. 

No, it will not. It is not mortal. 

Yes. It is not. 


	5. Learning to Integrate

****

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

A _Voyager_/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway. 

I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.

****

Chapter Five: Learning to Integrate

The new uniform was distracting, he thought; he couldn't quite keep the bright yellow shoulders of his jacket out of his peripheral vision. It was also a shade tighter than the clothing the replicator had provided for him so far, although it was similar to the uniform he had been purportedly been wearing when _Voyager_ had rescued him. B'Elanna had assured him that he would get used to the sensation; "soon it'll be like a second skin," she had said. He supposed that she would know, having been unwillingly inducted into this ship's crew after they had been stranded from Earth.

The past few weeks, to put it mildly, had been frustrating. Other than a few other jigsaw pieces of his past, he still hadn't any more clue as to who he was, or used to be. The only thing that they'd established so far was that he wasn't from the local sector of space, and had no connection to the Cepylaspoa whatsoever. The days after the initial attack had been the worst of all; the whole crew had been walking on eggshells, expecting another devastating attack to come out of the blue. But the days turned into weeks, and the tension eased as it became apparent that the brush with the Cepylaspoa may just have been a one-off incident. 

And in the meantime, he had been trying to find himself a place on this ship. It wasn't easy, but the crew was accustomed to dealing with new crewmembers. Neelix, the cook who seemed too cheerful for someone who had been through the genocide of his world, told him that after a whole string of Borg, he seemed almost to nice to be true.

He was quick enough not to miss Neelix's emphasis on "almost".

It was true that for someone with literally no privileges on the ship, he had been rather demanding. And after a lot of hounding, Janeway had finally acquiesced to his request- or pandering, depending on how one chose to look at it- and gave him the field rank of acting lieutenant, and put him in Security. So that at least, now he had a _job_ to do on this ship. When he first asked for a post on the ship he was afraid Janeway would put him in Engineering (it seemed he knew less about Federation technology than his own past), but she had quite wisely posted him to Security. Tuvok had given him a few combat training lessons so far, and found him to be more than satisfactory material-- top-flight, in fact. Janeway guessed that he had some form of military training in his past life.

His past life. It seemed to be a thing that he left further and further behind each day; that was something he would have to accept. Not having a past, not having an identity, but creating a new one from the life he would have to lead here. As he stared down at the brightly colored rectangular buttons at his fingertips, he thought that it wasn't all that bad a choice. At least he didn't have a family to pine for in the Alpha Quadrant.

It was his first day at Tactical, on the bridge. Harry had described it as "a cushy day job when things are running smoothly, and the office from hell when things go bad." So far, things today had been good. After logging in, the computer gave him updates on the ship's systems and surroundings every five minutes. All he had to do was sit in the chair and make sure nothing went wrong. And try to ignore the damned annoying yellow shoulders.

The turbolift door beside him slid open and out Ayala, replacing him for the duty shift. The broad-shouldered lieutenant smiled slightly at him as he vacated the seat. "How's it going so far?" Ayala asked. 

He made a deferential gesture. "Nothing unusual."

Ayala clapped him solidly on the shoulder as he headed for the turbolift.

"Deck nine." As the turbolift descended, Stranger adjusted his collar absently. He had dinner with the captain tonight. They ate together often; it seemed that she was putting extra effort in providing for his welfare. She seemed extremely concerned over how well he was integrating with the crew. Stranger could appreciate her concern, but-

A sudden jolt broke him from his train of thought. The lights flickered once, ominously, then dimmed. Harry Kim's voice filtered in over the comm: "Red Alert. All hands to battle stations."

Stranger suddenly realized he hadn't been assigned a battle station, so he did the next most natural thing: he told the turbolift to proceed to the bridge.

On bridge the lights had been darkened, and a dim red glow permeated throughout. Janeway was back standing in the center of the bridge, having been called out of the ready room. "Report," she said tersely.

"We were hit by a heavy gravimetric surge," reported Kim, now back at the conn. "Shields are down to fifteen percent, hull stresses on decks four, five, seven to thirteen inclusive. Warp drive is offline."

"Could it have been the Cepylaspoa?" asked Janeway.

"Unknown," said Harry heavily.

Stranger strode onto the middle section of the bridge. "Can we trace the source of that gravimetric surge?" he asked. 

Janeway turned to him and fixed him with a piercing stare. "Lieutenant," she said sharply, "what are you doing here?"

Stranger gazed coolly back at her. "I have no assigned duty station. This seemed to be the only reasonable place to be."

Janeway's eyes narrowed. "You don't belong here," she said harshly.

The words struck a raw nerve; it was as if something cold had contracted in his chest. "I guess you're right," he said heavily. "I'll return to my quarters." Stupid. He should have thought of that earlier. Except that… he just had this urge to be where all the action was. 

But as he turned to leave, she caught him by the wrist. "Wait. Stranger." He turned back, and her expression was a lot less severe. "I'm sorry, I overreacted. I was just… upset about being interrupted on the bridge." She released his wrist. "Please stay."

The turbolift arrived, bringing Chakotay and Seven. Stranger shifted slightly uncomfortably as Chakotay brushed past him and took his place at Janeway's right side. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We were hit by a gravimetric surge, origin unknown. Ensign?" Janeway returned to her seat and crossed her legs crisply as she sat.

"I have a lock on the source," said Kim from the conn. "It's an M-class planet, half a light-year away from our current position."

"Any activity in surrounding space?" asked Janeway.

"Negative."

"Hmm." Janeway rubbed her chin with the hand she'd propped on the armrest for a moment, then turned to gaze at Stranger. "Any ideas?"

He felt mildly surprised at her asking him for an opinion, but quashed the feeling immediately. "We should move closer to get a look at that source with the short-range sensors," he said.

"That's what I thought." She turned to her first mate. "Chakotay?"

"Seems like a good idea." The bearlike officer's expression was unreadable. 

Janeway nodded. "Mister Paris, set a course for the source of the surge, full impulse."

"Aye."

Janeway turned and gave Stranger a small smile. And for that brief moment he suddenly felt as if he had belonged here, in the center of the bridge, all his life.


End file.
